The cause of the failure of the Inebriate Home did not lie in the character of the inmates or of the officials who were placed over them, but in the defect inherent in all institutions; the fact that the manner of living in them differs essentially from anything that obtains outside. They are all founded more or less on the military model, and the military model and the industrial model are different. Far more than most of us suspect we are the creatures of habit:—often of habit acquired slowly, gradually, and unconsciously. To remove ourselves from one place to another implies the breaking off from some habits, but it also implies the formation of others. It did not need the experience of the Inebriate Home to let us know that men might be removed from the opportunity of drinking for long periods and, on return to their former conditions, resume the habit. Years of imprisonment, where teetotalism is rigidly enforced and where the diet is of a non-stimulating character, did not make the men who were submitted to it abstain from drinking on their release. The objectionable habit can only be cured through being replaced by something which is of equal interest, has greater power, and enables the man to live his life without being a nuisance to his neighbours.
When men or women are placed in association with one another, they have to find some common bond of interest. In every voluntary association this is recognised. Religion causes some to cut themselves off from the world and to devote their lives to its pursuit. Men differing in social positions, in age, in experience, in character, in temperament, join together to form a community. The one thing they have in common is their form of belief. They may differ as widely as possible in their views on other subjects, but these differences are not the thing that holds them together. They would rather tend of themselves to break up the association, since disagreement drives people apart. The differences are only tolerable because of the bond of agreement which is strong enough to compensate them. On this subject and around it they may talk. The experience of each will interest the other, will enlighten him, will at any rate be considered by him. The same is true of political associations. Differences there are amongst the members, but these differences cannot go beyond the point at which some common agreement balances them, without breaking up the association.
Inebriate Homes and other reformatory institutions are not voluntary associations, but there can be no intercourse amongst their inmates that is not based on some experience common to them all. In the Inebriate Homes the common factor is inebriety. However much the inmates may differ in other respects, in this they are all alike: that they have indulged in drink to such an extent that the law has interfered to deal with them, and so the question that every newcomer has to face is, “Why are you here?” They are compelled to associate with one another, and they will get on the better together for each knowing something of the others’ story. Scenes are recalled that had better be forgotten. Time spent in regretting the past while detailing its incident may result, and often does, in a repetition of the evils which are deplored.
Better that the mind should dwell on something else than on the errors of time past. It is a common thing to see a man begin to tell a wild episode or experience of his earlier years, and to observe that beneath his expressions of criticism and regret there is a certain tone of satisfaction that he has been through it, and a lingering reminiscence of the enjoyment he has had in it. He condemns the folly, admits it was a mistake, and shows quite clearly that it was quite a pleasure at the time. Talking over the past brings it back and keeps the memory of it alive, and persistence in this course may cause that which has been regarded with disgust to become a thing that is desired, even a thing that is longed for. I remember a conversation with an inmate on the occasion of a visit I made to an Inebriate Home. I had known her as a habitual offender for years before her reformation was undertaken, and at this time she had been in the institution for more than a year. I congratulated her on the improvement in her appearance, and at the end of our talk she said, “It’s a’ quite true, I am better housed than I ever was. Ma meat is a’ that a body could want, and I get it mair easily than I did ootside. The work’s no o’er-hard, and the officials are kind. There are bits o’ rows, of course, noo and then; whaur there are so many weemen you couldna expect onything else; but there’s naething to complain of. The country’s real bonny in the summer, but I get tired of the country. I am a toon bird like yoursel’, doctor, and I weary for the streets.” I suggested to her that since she was so well off and could be suited on the expiry of her term with a place where she would not have the same inducements to drink as she had had, she should make up her mind to keep away from the town; but she answered, “No; it’s a’ very nice and comfortable, but I wouldna gie a walk doon the Candleriggs for the haill o’ it.” Of course she ultimately had a walk down the Candleriggs, followed by a drive to prison; but it was quite apparent that this longing for her old haunts was the result of her failure to be impressed by interests that were equally absorbing, and that would become more powerful. Had such an interest developed in her, the Candleriggs would have been merely an empty sentiment. It would have occupied the position that “Bonnie Scotland” has in the minds of so many of the Scots who, having taken up their residence abroad, and having become absorbed in their affairs, stay there—afraid to return lest they lose even the sentiment. Just as in the religious community the members are stimulated to welldoing, in the reformatory the association of people whose common bond is their offence stimulates them to wrongdoing, or at least tends to hinder them from breaking off their old interests.
Institutional life has points of difference from life outside, which cause the formation of habits that are detrimental to the inmates when they return to the community. They are lodged usually on the model of the barracks; though this does not apply to the lodging of prisoners in prison, as they have separate rooms. Outside an institution most people do not sleep in dormitories or live in common rooms. They may live and sleep in the same room, but the only lodging outside which is on the same model as the dormitory is the common lodging-house, and that is the last place to which anyone would desire that a reformed offender should go.
In an institution division of labour is carried out for reasons of economy. The superintendent directs that different sets of people should perform different duties. Even if all the persons are changed at intervals from one set of duties to another, with a view to each inmate learning to do all parts of the work which is necessary in order that the place may be kept in proper condition, the habit formed is different from that of the housewife outside, who daily has to go over the whole round of her work. She is not responsible for doing a part, knowing that some other is responsible for some other part. Not only each part of the work engages her attention in its turn, but she is accountable for the whole; whether she does it well or ill is beside the point, which is, that there is nobody to rule her and no one whom she can hold accountable for her neglect. The habits of housekeeping acquired by the inmates of a home may tend to make them good servants, but they are certainly not the kind likely to make them more fit than they were to undertake the management of a house of their own; for they do not manage, they are managed.
CHAPTER VII
THE PREVENTION OF CRIMES ACT (1908)